


I Believe In You

by thegodandthecynic



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: How Do I Tag, M/M, Minor Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Minor Courfeyrac/Jean Prouvaire, Minor Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Pining, minor combeferre/eponine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 10:44:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegodandthecynic/pseuds/thegodandthecynic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lovestruck Enjolras denies any instance of feeling towards everyone’s favourite drunk. How long until the drunk himself starts to take notice?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i still dont know how to use tags u g h

There were few places where a person or group of people could go and be completely alone. You could have headphones in and music blasting, the door shut and a warning sign put up and still someone would come knocking, waving a hand in your face to get your attention. It was near impossible to be completely alone nowadays, but thankfully, Jehan had found a place where alone was possible, even for an entire group of people.

Hidden down a past cliff and behind a jetty of rocks, there was a small beach; it was quite tiny when compared to the large, trashed, and loud beach only a half mile to the east. For months, Les Amis would go to that main beach, attempting to enjoy themselves. But there’s only so much one can take of other people, especially if those other people are obnoxious and loud and utterly annoying.

One day, Jehan and Courfeyac had come back from a walk more excited than usual. Jehan began clamouring about the small beach they had found; he had fallen in love with the place already. He described it as if it was only obvious for them to go. Who wouldn’t want to go where the sand was as smooth as a dream and the water clear and clean? It was hard to get to, nearly impossible to find if one wasn’t looking for it. In the secluded area, they would be completely alone and unburdened by other people. It was a win-win situation.

The group listened to his words, looking at each other for a moment before Jehan won them all over. They packed up their things, agreeing that they would go to Jehan’s beach instead the next time they came. It was already late in the day; both Eponine and Cosette needed to return to campus to study.

And so it became tradition; every time they would go to the beach, they filled picnic baskets with sandwiches and snacks and soda (and the occasional beer supplied by Grantaire) and spent the day at the beach, the alcove just big enough for their group to fit together comfortably without feeling cramped. A day at the beach was a rare occasion for them and each person spent it differently.

Grantaire and Courfeyac would bring a football or a Frisbee to throw around, often dragging other people into the middle of their games. Eponine would work on her tan, laying in the sun as Jehan and Cosette took turns braiding her hair. Bousset and Joly would lounge together in the sand, facetiming Musichetta when she couldn’t make it. Feuilly sat in the sand, spewing random facts about Poland as Bahorel laid in the sand snoring. Combeferre and Enjolras both sat alone, each reading their respective books. Or in Enjolras’s case, attempting to read.

As much as he would deny it, Enjolras couldn’t help but stare at Grantaire as he ran across the beach. The man was surprisingly lithe, skinny but not lanky. He filled out his frame well for a man of his size. His skin practically glowed in the sun, the milky white accentuated by dark curls bouncing on his head. Grantaire laughed and jumped for the Frisbee, his body flexing and showing off every good feature.

Enjolras shook his head, looking down at his textbook trying to concentrate. His tests wouldn’t pass themselves, as much as he wished it was possible.

Clearing his mind, Enjolras began reading his book once more, studying the important parts and marking up anything that would help later on. He was just getting into the swing of things when an urgent call alerted him to the Frisbee flying towards his face. He flinched and prepared for a mouth full of plastic.

It wasn’t until he realised that the Frisbee had landed in his lap that he opened his eyes. The plastic disc sat on top of his textbook, making any more studying impossible. He was about to push it off with a frustrated sigh when he saw Grantaire running over, a huge smile plastered to his face. Enjolras gulped, taking a deep breath as Grantaire approached.

‘Be more careful Grantaire,’ Enjolras stated, trying to look as uninterested as possible. It was a trick he had mastered in Grantaire’s presence; to seem apathetic was better than to seem too eager. He glanced at Grantaire, his breath hitching as he was able to examine Grantaire’s beauty up close.

His abs were the first thing Enjolras noticed. They weren’t overly defined, only visible if someone was looking for them. However defined they were, Enjolras couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to run his fingers down them, to feel Grantaire writhing beneath him, sweating and moaning Enjolras’s name.

‘My apologies, dear Apollo. It would be a shame if it had hit that beautiful face of yours.’ Enjolras rolled his eyes, hiding how happy that last statement had made him. He looked Grantaire up and down once more, shaking his head in disagreement but marvelling at how ridiculously low Grantaire’s trunks were on his hips. He could make out the faintest of v-lines, travelling down into his pants and if he squinted, he could just barely see a brush of dark, curly hair…

Grantaire bowed in Enjolras’s direction, the movement snapping him back to reality. Grabbing the Frisbee and throwing a smile, Grantaire turned and jogged back to Courfeyac.

Enjolras cursed under his breath, unable to look away from Grantaire’s retreating back.

I do not like him. he told himself, repeating it in his head. If he said it enough, it would eventually become true.

At least he hoped so.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a lovestruck enjolras denies any instance of feeling towards everyone’s favourite drunk. how long until the drunk himself starts to take notice?

The textbook definition of a date is a outing between two people with romantic undertones. Whether they’re simply spending time together at home or out to dinner and a movie, a date can have very different definitions between people, depending on the circumstances. However, unless stated otherwise, most agree that going couples bowling with a certain someone counts as a date.

Of course, Enjolras was one of the few people who didn’t realise that.

It had been Eponine’s idea. After their day at the beach, everyone had agreed that they would meet more often if they could all choose different activities to do. First was Jehan and the beach, then Bahorel had paid for them all to take boxing lessons. Next was Eponine’s turn, and she decided that couples bowling would be the best way to spend the night.

‘And yes, you have to go with someone. I don’t care if it’s just as friends, but it’s not fair if everyone has a date and then there’s one person who’s alone. Expect Joly, Bousset and Chetta. That’s the one exception.’ Eponine stated the rules, making sure everyone understood before sitting back down and tuning back into the television. Enjolras sat in his chair still as a stone, still reeling from the one word: date.

Later that night, after everyone had left, Enjolras awkwardly brought up the topic.

‘Ferre?’

‘Yes Enjolras?’ Combeferre answered, half-listening half-continuing to wash dishes.

 

‘Who are you asking for the couples bowling?’ Combeferre stopped washing one plate, looking over his glasses at Enjolras.

 

‘I’ve already asked Eponine. Why? Who were you going to ask?’

 

‘Oh, no one in particular. No one you should concern yourself with at least. I mean, he very definitely doesn’t have curly black hair and striking blue eyes, I mean, not that I wouldn’t ask someone who did. Or didn’t. I mean, it’s not important is it? What he looks like doesn’t matter. It’s not like he’s talented at everything he does: painting, drawing, boxing, breathing…’ Enjolras trailed off.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Combeferre’s lips. ‘Are you going to ask Grantaire?’ The blonde nearly fell off his chair.

 

‘What? No! No of course not! I was going to ask…Courfeyac!’

 

‘Courf is going with Jehan. That should be obvious.’

 

‘Well…Feuilly-‘

 

‘Is going with Bahorel. Listen, Enjolras,’ Combeferre started, drying his hands on a dish towel. ‘If you want to ask Grantaire, then just ask him. I’m sure he’ll say yes.’

 

‘Do you really think so?’ Enjolras asked, partially put off by Combeferre’s firm tone.

 

‘If he doesn’t, I can always ask Ponine to talk to him.’

 

‘Thank you Combeferre. You are a good friend.’

 

‘All I do is guide you.’ Combeferre patted Enjolras on the back before walking away, shaking his head at how ridiculously in love Enjolras was. It had taken their leader long enough to realise it.

 

——————————————————————————————————-

 

Saturday night approached quickly, as did the impending doom of the bowling night. Everyone else was excited for it; Courfeyac and Eponine had been harassing everyone about how they were sure to win as their respective partners shook their head with a smile. Feuilly constantly had to hold Bahorel back from starting a fight with someone over the predicted outcome, and Joly and Musichetta had convinced Bousset to let them do the actual bowling part.

 

Two hours before they were scheduled to leave and Enjolras still had not worked up the courage to ask Grantaire to be his partner (he refrained from using the word date at any cost). When Combeferre had confronted him about it a day after their talk, Enjolras blushed profusely and assured the med student that it had all been taken care of. By all taken care of, Enjolras meant that had done everything he could to try and convince Grantaire to be the one to do that asking, everything from fixing him heated stares across the tables at meetings to slipping notes into his sketchbooks and awaiting Grantaire’s reaction when he finally found them. Enjolras was sure that one of his tactics would work; if Enjolras had gotten love letters from someone signed ‘a revolutionary in love’, he would have been smitten. It was only logic that it should work on Grantaire too.

 

But Saturday came and as their outing grew ever closer, Grantaire had still not made any indication to noticing any of Enjolras’s messages and subtle (so he thought) flirtations. Enjolras was sitting on the couch, desperately trying to think of a way to make Grantaire ask him when Eponine waved a hand in his face.

 

‘Sorry, did you say something?’

 

‘I asked who you were going with.’ Enjolras’s face must have shown something, because Eponine shook her head. ‘Really now Enj, it was an easy task. All you had to do was just ask—’

 

‘We’re going Ponine.’ Grantaire’s voice cut Eponine off as he sat down next to Enjolras on the couch.

‘Ah good! Problem solved!’ She clapped her hands in delight before walking away to torture some other poor soul.

 

‘I do not remember asking you, nor do I remember being asked, Grantaire.’ Enjolras swallowed thickly, suddenly aware of how close Grantaire was sitting.

 

‘Everyone else is matched up; we seem to be the only two kindred souls left,’ Grantaire slipped his arm around Enjolras’s shoulders, ‘And I couldn’t miss out on a chance to go on a date with my Apollo, now could I?’ Sensing Enjolras’s loss for words, Grantaire chuckled and got up from the couch to go talk to Eponine. A dip in the seat next to him alerted Enjolras to a new person’s presence.

 

‘I thought you said it was all taken care of.’ Combeferre’s voice had taken on the tone of a mother reprimanding her child.

 

‘It was. I had a plan; I was just waiting for the right time to execute it.’

 

‘So your plan was to stare at him and hope he asked you?’ Enjolras looked horrified. ‘R may not have noticed, but you’re terrible when it comes to relationships. For the past five days you’ve been staring at him like you either want to rip his throat out or rip his pants off.’

 

‘I-Of course not!’ A blush had started to creep across Enjolras’s face.

 

‘Right, so is that why you’ve been pining over him for the past week or so?’

 

‘I’ve done no such thing! I’m simply…admiring his beauty is all.’

 

‘Okay Enjolras. I’m sure you know what you’re doing.’ Sighing once more, Combeferre got up from the couch and started walking towards Eponine and R, stopping once Enjolras grabbed his arm.

 

‘Do….do you think he likes me too?’ Enjolras asked, his voice taking on the tone of a worried child.

 

‘Why don’t you ask him for yourself? He is your date.’

 

Enjolras’s smile was radiant.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a lovestruck enjolras denies any instance of feeling towards everyone’s favourite drunk. how long until the drunk himself starts to take notice?

In the span of less than half an hour, the night out had turned from exciting and fun to a complete disaster; at least in Enjolras’s opinion. For everyone else the night was going splendidly: Combeferre and Eponine were dominating with Marius and Cosette close behind. Apparently Cosette had been an avid bowler a few years ago; she was the reason their score was so high. Feuilly and Bahorel had given up on actually bowling and were cheering for everyone else, especially Joly, Bousset and Musichetta. For how confident Courfeyac had been, he and Jehan were at the bottom of the pack, right after Grantaire and Enjolras. Courfeyac claimed it was because he was too busy on keeping Jehan from throwing the ball into someone’s head; the poet was horrifically bad at bowling and Courfeyac had taken it upon himself to help. He kept his arms around Jehan’s waist, guiding the ball with one arm and clapping when the ball made it down the lane without hitting the bumpers. They looked like a real couple, laughing and smiling together. It was a real date for them.

And unfortunately for Enjolras, his ‘date’ wasn’t turning out as planned.

He had seen how Courfeyac helped Jehan with the ball, one arm around the poet’s waist and the other leading. Every gesture he made was loving and gentle, obviously meant to impress. And it had seemed to be working well; the couple hadn’t left each other’s side the entire night. Enjolras simply assumed that this was what happened whenever people went on a date.

So he tried to do the same with Grantaire.

The first time, Enjolras went up to bowl. His turn was over relatively quickly and he started off well, knocking down all the pins in nearly one shot. The people who went after him had their own troubles but soon, the line went back to the beginning and it was Grantaire’s turn.

He picked up the ball and walked towards the lane, about to let go when two strong arms wrapped around him from behind.

‘E-Enjolras?’ Grantaire asked, his body tensing up considerably at the new contact. ‘What in god’s name are you doing?’

‘Helping you,’ Enjolras stated firmly, too focused on the task at hand to be aware of the amused giggles and snickers of their friends.

‘I - Alright.’ Grantaire relaxed into Enjolras’s embrace, letting his hand be guided. Once he released the ball, what had been a calming, almost romantic moment quickly turned awkward when the ball went straight to the gutter.

‘Let me help again.’ Enjolras was determined to make this right, no matter how many times it took. Grantaire merely nodded, attempting to relax himself into Enjolras’s embrace once more.

The ball rang against the bumper with a crack.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

‘You’ve got to come out of your room sometime, Enjolras. You can’t possibly expect to sit in there forever and pine.’ The music increased in volume, making any type of communication impossible. Combeferre leaned his head against the door, sighing and knocking a few more times. When greeted with nothing but lyrics about the ‘teardrops on a guitar’, he walked away sighing, making a note to himself to tell Courfeyac; the Irishman would be more apt to solve this problem.

Inside the room, Enjolras laid on the bed, in the process of clutching a pillow and singing along quietly. The night hadn’t gone as planned; his attempts to help had only hurt, causing them to finish second to last. Normally, he would’ve been upset by the fact that they had lost; his nature didn’t allow him to brush such things off easily. Right about now, he had completely forgotten about their embarrassing loss and his mind was focused solely on the fact that he had probably ruined any chance whatsoever with Grantaire.

Grantaire was an extremely competitive person and losing in such a manner had made things take a turn for the worse. As soon as the game was over, he nearly stormed out of the bowling alley and an hour later he still hadn’t shown up at his and Eponine’s apartment. Eponine had said not to worry, that he probably went out to get drunk and that he would be back before the morning.

No matter how much he told himself this, Enjolras couldn’t ignore the feeling that it was all his fault.

A knock on the door brought Enjolras out of his stupor. He rolled over on the bed, hoping that whoever it was would go away. The knocking became more insistent and in response, he turned up the music, letting Taylor Swift’s words take him away.

‘Really Enjolras. Taylor Swift? How more lovestruck can you get?’ Courfeyac asked amused, sitting on the side of bed and placing a hand on Enjolras’s shoulder.

‘Go away Courfeyac. I would like to be alone.’

‘Talk to me now, I’m here to help.’ Courfeyac shut off the music, smiling welcomingly as Enjolras sat up, still clutching his pillow.

‘I messed up tonight. I was trying to help Grantaire, but all I did was make things worse. Eponine says he hasn’t come home yet; who knows what he’s out doing now. He could be getting drunk, or getting mugged, or even worse, he could me—’

‘I’m going to stop you right there, Enjolras. Do you have feelings for Grantaire?’ Courfeyac asked, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as Enjolras tried to think of a good way to deny it.

‘No! No of course not.’ He said all too quickly, gripping the pillow tighter and bringing it up to his face.

‘Well that’s a shame, considering you two would be so good for each other.’ Enjolras’s head shot up.

‘What?’

‘You heard me.’

‘You think….you think R likes me?’ Enjolras asked, bringing the pillow up to his face. Courfeyac nearly slammed his head against a wall in frustration.

‘I don’t know,’ He said through gritted teeth, ‘Why don’t you ask him???’


End file.
